Page 209 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

Caspian accepted the strawberry, but he was watching her face. "You really did know they'd win."

"They're the Chosen Ones," Caroline said simply. "It was always going to happen. The universe doesn't let hero quests fail."

"The universe," Caspian repeated, amused.

"Fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it." Caroline selected a grape for herself. "Percival and Rosalie were always going to defeat the Blight. That was their story."

"And what's our story?" Caspian asked.

Caroline looked at him, her expression softening into something tender. "This. Right here. You, me, our son. Our life together. Our happiness."

She rested her hand over his where it lay on her belly. "That's our story. And I like it much better than fighting ancient evils in a wasteland."

Caspian pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her body against his, the solid proof that this was real.

"So do I," he said quietly.

They sat there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the fruit platter forgotten.

Outside, Caspian could hear the sounds of the estate coming alive with the news. Servants calling to each other, excited voices, the beginning of spontaneous celebration.

The Blight was defeated.

The kingdom was saved.

And Caspian could finally, truly, build the peaceful life he'd never thought possible.

With the woman he loved. With their son on the way. With a future that didn't revolve around endless war.

"In a few days," Caroline said eventually, snuggling closer. "We'll have our celebration. But right now, I just want to sit here with you."

"I can arrange that," Caspian said.

She smiled and offered him another slice of apple.

Caspian accepted it, held his wife close, and allowed himself to simply be happy.

The Blight was gone.

He was home.

And everything he needed was right here in his arms.

Chapter 47

Death Flags Activated

The afternoon sun was warm and pleasant, filtered through the leaves of the garden trees.

Carol lay on a cushioned lounge sofa that had been specially positioned in the most comfortable spot—shaded but not too cool, with a perfect view of the gardens and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of flowers.

At eight and a half months pregnant, she was enormous. Moving was difficult. Standing for long periods was exhausting. But napping? Napping was still perfectly achievable.

And so she napped.

She was surrounded by her ever-growing collection of protective companions, all of whom had taken it upon themselves to guard her with varying degrees of intensity.

Shadow lay at the foot of the lounge, his massive body stretched out on the grass. The shadow wolf had grown to his near-full size now—larger than a pony, with paws the size of dinner plates and teeth that could crush bone. His golden eyes were half-closed, but Carol knew he was aware of everything happening in the garden. One ear twitched occasionally, tracking sounds too faint for her to hear.